Nobel Prize Pair
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Lukas lets go of his anger and feels light as Berwald moves him, dips him, pulls their hips close and presses his lips to his. / 30 day OTP meme for SuNor. 30 drabbles x 250 words each x various ratings from K to R.


Author's note: Some of you may have already seen these on Tumblr but essentially I did the 30 day OTP challenge for SuNor and decided each day would be restricted to exactly 250 words. Not all of the stories flow together but some do, so I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Nobel Prize Pair  
**250 words x 30 days

1. Holding hands

The meeting today is boring. Most meetings are boring, but this one, Lukas thinks, is especially boring. Bonnefoy and Kirkland are getting along, Jones is jet lagged and thus quiet, and Christen is absent so the Norwegian is left to silence.

Irritably he taps his pen against the desk. Tap tap tap tap tap. The pen keeps tapping and tapping as Beilschmidt drones on and on about being accountable and responsible and yet those his speech is directed towards aren't even paying attention. Bastards.

About ready to get up and shove his pen deep into someone's eyeball (a fantasy Lukas has, more often than not, several times a day), his other hand falls from the desk to hang beside his chair. Too lethargic to move Lukas keeps tapping the pen, his eyes darting towards the clock.

Four and a half more minutes? Bullshit, it's said that for at least ten minutes now. He needed coffee and possibly a cigarette, though the Dane was his supplier of those things. Berwald has never smoked, fucking holier-than-thou Swede he is. Maybe he could pinch one off Braginski….

A hand slips into his, distracting Lukas who hadn't been expecting it. His eyes go wide, searching the room to make sure no one is watching him. Then he turns his head slightly to see Berwald beside him, reading under the table.

Their fingers wind together and Lukas stops tapping the pen.

Four more minutes till coffee; the cigarette doesn't seem as necessary anymore.

* * *

2. Cuddling somewhere

They hide away in the back of the library, surrounded by old Scandinavian lore of days gone by. What tales were hidden here? What myths of their once-gods? What legends inspired by their own bravery or survival? Where there still people left on this earth to love these tales as they once had?

Behind the shelves packed thick with heavy tomes, little light manages to enter from the windows far, far away in the French and German and Spanish sections. If anything it makes the space more perfect, more calm. The little amount of light was like polar nights, the darkness so thick it was as if it was pressing down on them.

Lukas stretches like a cat after a wonderfully long nap, enjoying it all.

Behind him Berwald leans against a shelf, pulling his sweater off. Lukas snatches it from him, inhaling deeply as their eyes lock. The intensity of the glare only grows as Lukas move towards him, straddling his hips and running his hands up his chest.

The Norwegian shivers with excitement, laying his head on Berwald's shoulder. Arms wrap around him, holding him close, and they stay like that for a long while in silence. No one passes by; the books rest where they've probably laid for years.

Under his hand Lukas can feel the Swedish kingdom's heartbeat so he moves until his ear is pressed to the man's strong chest. A hand threads through his blond hair, playing with the ends lazily. The Norwegian sighs.

* * *

3. Watching a movie

They sit in the dark, a bowl of popcorn between them. The floor is littered with a combination of empty vodka and beer bottles, Berwald dropping another one to the hardwood with a clank that resonates throughout the space. The glow of the television is the only illumination of the couch, normally a deep, deep blue that has an eerie aura to it at the moment instead. The blanket over them seems even more red in the light of the film, some awful thing in awful English: another version of Beowulf produced by people who clearly didn't understand what they were trying to recreate.

Given, without such stupid people, Berwald and Lukas wouldn't get to have their horrible Beowulf film marathons. And they had spent so much time collecting all the DVDs, after all.

"Berwald?"

"Ja beloved?"

Lukas shifts so that he's facing the Swedish nation, those glasses reflecting the light though Lukas can see eyebrows raised and the open expression of Berwald's face. With his flat voice the Norwegian asks, "Are you going to go ask Timo's forgiveness?"

A hand reaches out to take one of his. "I have kids," he sighs; Lukas looks away. "Someday this'll be different, you'll see. We've waited longer."

"I've waited since we lived this tale," and the smaller kingdom gestures to the screen where the Danish king is presenting gold to Beowulf. "How much longer shall I wait?"

Still holding his hand Berwald shifts, pulling Lukas to him. Lips silence any further questions.

* * *

4. On a date

At the store Lukas finds a new gun to immediately fall in love with, Berwald buying it for him. They get camouflage, paintballs, and the Swede finds a hat he takes a fancy to. With their purchases they head back to the car, preparing for the long drive.

x

Along the way they take a pitstop, getting a quick lunch they eat in Berwald's Volvo. When they realize there's no one around to see them, they take it to the back seat for some quick sex, a preview of the night's adventures. They clean up and head back off, Berwald carefully speeding them along towards the bridge.

x

The pair settle in behind a small hill near Christen's house, Lukas loading his paintball gun, Berwald setting up for a long wait before doing the same. Laying side-by-side they prepare as if they were snipers, awaiting the return of their prey.

Almost too soon Christen pulls up in his car, getting out and singing in off-key Danish. As he heads for the door Lukas takes the first shot, knocking the keys out of Christen's hand. Berwald then goes for the Dane's briefcase, and all hell breaks loss after that. They fire nearly all their ammo before Christen realizes who's shooting at him, running towards them in a way only a former Viking could. Lukas empties his gun, Berwald handing him his, before it becomes hand-to-hand combat.

Which, all in all, means that this was another successful date night.

* * *

5. Kissing

Berwald's lips immediately apply gentle pressure against his, lips that are slightly chapped but still taste of the vanilla chapstick Lukas had bought him at the airport in New York City. Their lips move together at first, slowly, and hands wind into hair to pull the two closer. Heads lean even more to the side and Lukas runs his hands over the cheeks of Berwald's face, glad the Swede's glasses were off so that no metal pressed against him.

They turn their heads the other way.

Now Lukas demands more, their mouthes opening a little wider with each move. His chest starts a dull ache as a tongue oh so faintly touches part of his mouth. It turns the Norwegian on, moving in closer on the larger man's lap as their heads turn again, and this time that tongue enters his mouth. It meets its Norwegian counterpart and together they swirl around one another, hot and slick and sensitive. Berwald pulls his tongue back and Lukas takes the opportunity to explore the Swedish mouth instead, running his tongue over everything he can.

Finally his lungs are nearly empty of air but the Norwegian doesn't care. Their lips almost even make a smacking noise as they move, Lukas's hips rocking slowly over Berwald's. The intensity of the moment grows and grows until he literally cannot handle it, the other kingdom demanding one last long tease of the tongue and suck on his lips before the kiss breaks.

The Norwegian pants loudly.

* * *

6. Wearing each others' clothes

Lukas pads barefoot through the house wearing only his boxers and Berwald's sweater. He smacks his lips together, a hand running through his messy hair, heading for the kitchen and that sweet coffee calling out to him. No light streams through the windows as it might in more southern nations; oh no, this was a northern winter. At the next world meeting, held in Rome, four of the five Nordic nations would arrive with thick sunglasses with their Danish companion explaining the sun was not on friendly terms with their harsh winters.

Now though the Norwegian's only concern is his boyfriend sitting on the counter beside the coffee maker, drinking heavily from his mug and staring at the opposite wall. "Bored," Berwald admits and Lukas takes note that that's one of his old sweaters the Swede is wearing, given to him by an elderly neighbor years ago and forever too big for him. It's exceptionally soft on the inside.

He pours out his own cup before handing it to Berwald who scoots down. Lukas joins him on the counter, taking his mug back before finally drinking that dark liquid he so adores. "I know."

"We should find something to do."

"Beyond having sex?"

"That's a lot of sex."

"Your point beloved?"

"I like that sweater on you." Looking to his side he sees the Swede still looking forward; as far as he knows, Berwald has yet to look away.

"Good, because you look stupid as hell in mine."

Berwald snorts.

* * *

7. Cosplaying

Peter, the cause of this headache, has run off long ago to piss away the day (and probably a healthy chunk of his father's money) with Alfred and Matthew, meaning Lukas is stuck ridiculously dressed with an even more ridiculous-looking Swede who has the gaul to be enjoying himself right now. The Norwegian would never pretend to understand, not even sure exactly what he's dressed up as or what an anime convention is.

"Oh my God!" a girl behind them squeals, both men turning instinctually though Lukas also covers his ears, flinching from the high-pitch scream; Berwald only blinks. "You guys are like, so cute! Can we take a picture with you?" The group of girls surrounding the one Lukas most desires to strangle all nod furiously, delighted at the prospect.

Before he can teach them a hundred vulgar ways to say no in Norwegian, his boyfriend has wrapped an arm around him and said in his flat, horrible English, "Ja, sure."

There's giggles and one of them touches him– touches him! –as the girls settle in around them, a non-costumed companion taking the photo. "Oh my God, thank you!" the original girl screams, running away already.

"Thank you!" the chorus chimes out after him.

"Yeah, something like that," the non-costumed one mutters.

Berwald is quite proud at that. "We should cosplay more often," he says in Norwegian. The volley of punches and slaps that have security concerned following that statement are all his own doing.

* * *

8. Shopping

Enjoying breaking all the rules he fancies because this supermarket knows he's Norway and so will never say no to him, Lukas lounges in the shopping cart as Berwald pushes him through the store. His hands take down whatever strikes his fancy as they progress through the aisles, that always-serious Swede putting things back occasionally. "Don't need another box of those," he mutters in the cereal aisle before they move on.

"I want the prize inside."

"You're an idiot."

"Takes one to know one."

With interest he notes that Berwald doesn't object to that statement, nor does he object to the obscene amount of coffee Lukas has pulled down as well. They roll into the baking aisle next where the Swede leaves him parked just out of reach of the chocolate chips to look at various mixes for when Peter would next be joining his father in Stockholm. "Bastard," Lukas mutters hotly under his breath after struggling to tip even one bag.

"Takes one to know one," is all the reaction he gets before Berwald returns, throwing a box into the cart and rolling them off again.

Checkout is what becomes interesting, everyone around them whispering behind their hands as if they couldn't hear them. Calmly Lukas hands up the items on and around him, Berwald lining them all up and giving strict instructions as to how things are to be packed. Finally the Swede holds the cart steady with one arm, pulling his boyfriend out with the other.

* * *

9. Hanging out with friends

Timo is wearing a lamp shade. Normally at this point in the evening Christen'd be wearing the lamp shade but no no, tonight they're mixing it up and the Finn's wearing it in all its glory, his pants about two seconds from just slipping all down his front to reveal him to them.

Simultaneously Christen and Berwald reach out to yank those pants down, the Finnish nation tipping over and falling onto the pillows they've thrown on the floor. The Dane falls down beside him, laughing and spilling beer and kissing Timo, though those two (when sober) still somehow believe the other three have missed what their relationship's progressed to.

On the couch Lukas stretches, laying on his stomach, his head on Berwald's lap. In the chair Emil pulls his legs up to avoid getting caught in the mess of tangled limbs the floor is becoming.

More vodka is distributed and downed quickly, the burn wonderful to the Norwegian as he moves to straddle his boyfriend's lap, the large Swede cracking open five more beers. His hands pull apart Berwald's shirt, his lips attacking the man's mouth and jaw and neck, as the other distributes the new alcohol as well.

Emil starts laughing at something on his phone, no doubt texting his boyfriend. Timo is making a drowning sound as Christen almost smothers him, the two dry humping. Berwald finally turns his attention to where it belongs.

And in the morning, hangovers gloriously horrendous, they'll barely remember any of it.

* * *

10. With animal ears

"It's for Peter," Berwald mutters sheepishly. Lukas, eyebrows drawn together, makes another mental tick of how many times the Swede has put ridiculous things off on his son.

"Well I hope you don't expect me to do that too," the Norwegian says haughtily, pointing to the rabbit ears. He remembers when Easter celebrations were, well, actually related to Easter.

"He's my son," the Swede tries but his small companion will have none of it, shaking his head and trying to leave. Strong arms pull him to Berwald's lap, holding him in place. "Maybe you'll understand someday."

"I had Emil," Lukas points out, "and I still don't understand."

"No, that–" Berwald sighs. "That wasn't the same. You were never Emil's father."

"Are you belittling what I sacrificed for my brother?" Now Lukas is getting angry, struggling harder. Lips press to his neck where collar and hair meet, stilling the Norwegian.

"I'm saying we should consider–"

"Yes?" Lukas breathes, turning with wide eyes. Was Berwald about to suggest what he thinks he's about to suggest? If the Swede ends up not he'd be getting a beating for having not read Lukas's mind.

"Well, we should just consider, as a couple, adop–"

"Ahh!" the ecstatic scream sounds through the house as Peter runs downstairs and into the kitchen, chocolate in his little fists. "It's Easter!" he yells excitedly before his face sours. "Ew, were you two kissing?"

"Ew yourself," the two men say instinctively. When Berwald raises an eyebrow, Lukas slaps him anyway.

* * *

11. Wearing kigurumis

That they were a gift from Honda Kiku makes no difference to Lukas; they were not to come within 10 kilometers of him, Berwald simply shaking his head and laughing lightly in that way that only family gets to see. A carefree sort of laugh that Lukas would have appreciated, had the gift not been incredibly bizarre to him.

"I think they're cool," Christen murmurs before immediately opening one of the bags and starting in on the costume. Behind him Lukas can see Berwald opening another for Peter who's bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You want yours?" the Dane asks, holding up a bag.

"No," Lukas protests, annoyed, spinning in his desk chair. "Your phone has a camera and Emil says you've finally learned how it works."

"Spoil sport," the Dane pouts before throwing the bag at Berwald, his son buttoned into the bear costume.

"You don't want yours?" the Swede asks, bringing the bag over. Lukas scoots away around the room, Berwald patiently following. "It could be fun."

"No it won't."

"You might like it."

"No I won't."

"You just need to open up your mind to some new possibilities."

Stopping an idea occurs to the Norwegian, an idea of what the Swede is getting at. "You are a sick one you know," he whispers.

Berwald's response of a look that says, I know what your fantasies are, silences any further criticism.

"This is fantastic!" Christen shouts behind Berwald. "Let's put Emil in his!" and Peter agrees.

* * *

12. Making out

House to themselves Lukas crawls over Berwald on the couch, straddling his lap before running his hands up and down the Swedish chest. He plays with the nipples through the fabric, enjoying the way Berwald's head falls back onto the arm of the couch or how exposed his neck is. Hands slip under the shirt to touch the hard stomach and harder chest as Lukas leans over to lick at the man's Adam's apple, eliciting a moan, a set of hands squeezing his ass, and a small buck of the hips.

Perfect.

Lukas bites his way across the neck and jaw, his nose nuzzling the hard line as his fingers push Berwald's shirt away, moving onto his belt. Quite content the large man takes all the attention from his boyfriend without doing anything.

At last the Norwegian decides to press lips to lips and here the man beneath him sits up, pulling his shirt off and Lukas to his chest. On top the smaller Nord grinds down, smirking as their eyes lock on one another's; he grinds down again.

"If you keep that up," Berwald warns in a voice that's deep and husky and his, "I'm going to take you right here on this couch."

"Make me scream," Lukas challenges before desperation kicks in and there's nothing more than a blur of clothes flying and hands moving and men moaning in the very remote house.

Which is for the better, because Lukas's screams would have definitely woken up the neighbors.

* * *

13. Eating ice-cream

The sun is unbearably hot, Nordic nations not meant for the south of France. Yes they're under an umbrella and yes Berwald had brought him back ice-cream, but Lukas is still miserable and fully intent on making everyone within a two kilometer radius miserable too, starting most importantly with his boyfriend.

"Don't let it melt all over you," the Swede points out as if Lukas was a child like Peter and not a former-Viking who has lived for over a thousand years. He turns his head to say as much with the rudest tone he can muster, only to find Berwald taking his hand holding the ice-cream and pulling it towards him. "See, it's already starting."

That tongue is so pink as it comes out to lick at where a bead of vanilla ice-cream had rolled down to settle on top of one of Lukas's fingers, swirling around to get every last bit of it. But he doesn't pull away at that, Berwald's eyes closed as he licks up the side of the ice-cream, swirling his tongue around the top to make the tip come to a point, before mouthing the whole thing.

"You should be more careful," the damned man says with a completely blank face as he pulls away, settling back in to lick at his own slightly-pink ice-cream that was blushing for him. Lukas stares in shock, feeling his pants tighten.

"You're a bitch, I hope you know." Berwald winks.

* * *

14. Gender-swapped

She watches Berit kisses at the swollen flesh of her stomach, one hand moving in soothing circles to calm the child so close to coming into this world. "You're amazing," the Swede breathes, closing her eyes and pressing her nose to the sensitive skin.

"Me, or the baby?" Kristina asks with a huff, propped up slightly on pillows to try and make herself comfortable. Not that it's working; at this point everything was uncomfortable for her. She both wants this baby to come and dreads it. Not the giving birth: it scares her yet she feels no apprehension about what must be done. No, it was worrying if they could really do this that kept her up at night.

"Both," Berit sighs happily, shifting to lay beside her. Kristina wraps her arms around her girlfriend's neck, needing physical contact to reassure her, as Swedish hands go back to stroking her belly where she was carrying their child. Yes they had needed a sperm donation and yes Christen had been a little too eager to oblige, but all in all the Norwegian was satisfied with where life had so far taken them.

"Have I told you today," Berit whispers, nuzzling her, "how incredible I think you are?" At first the Swede had offered to carry the child, either way it being Christen's sperm and Kristina's egg they'd be using, but the Swedish body had long ago given up on being fertile.

Instead, Kristina would make her girlfriend proud.

"No, tell me."

* * *

15. In a different clothing style

He's not sure if they've ever been this shabby looking in their lives, and Lukas is counting their days as young Vikings. Just looking at Berwald across the large bed, cradling a small bundle to his chest, it's strange how such imperfect things could be so absolutely beautiful. The baby coos as her father bounces her lightly, dark bags under Berwald's eyes but a happy smile on his face as well.

Standing and making his way slowly to the bathroom the Norwegian takes himself in in the mirror: his bags looked bigger, not hidden by glasses; his skin is pale; his hair is a mess. Lukas dares not look at the full-length mirror on the back of the door for fear of what he might see as he goes back to the bed in his briefs and one of Berwald's sweatshirts.

"You ok?" his boyfriend asks quietly, Lukas settling in beside Berwald to watch their daughter now fast asleep.

"Yeah, just thinking how ridiculous we must look." Berwald smiles.

"Haven't looked in a mirror for days. Do you remember when we wore suits everyday?"

"What's a suit?" Lukas moans. "What's a tie?"

"Remember sleep?" At that they both snort silently.

"And yet…" His voice trails off but Berwald raises an eyebrow, urging him to continue. "I don't think I'd give this up for anything. I don't want to go back to work. I just want to stay here, like this, with you and her forever."

Lips kiss his forehead.

* * *

16. During their morning ritual

First was that Berwald rose at least an hour before Lukas ever stirred. He would shower, the Norwegian knows, and have breakfast while waiting for the day to start. He'd even bring Lukas coffee and at that, the shorter nation's morning would begin as well.

He likes to think he's surprising his boyfriend but they both know more often than not what they'll be doing once Lukas enters the bathroom, Berwald combing his hair. The Swede moves with the shove to sit on the toilet seat, Lukas pulling open the towel wrapped around that incredible waist.

It's not quite making love, too hurried and needy, huffing and grunting. Yet it's not quite having sex either, something more than that that they share. Lukas likes it any which way though, dirtying a cleaned Berwald, not having glasses to contend with as he kisses the man's faces.

Berwald warms the shower up, washing quickly before trading with Lukas. By the time the Norwegian has finished Berwald is normally getting dressed in the bedroom, Lukas free to take up as much counter space as he wants.

Downstairs he eats the offered breakfast, both men sipping at coffee as they read their morning papers. Their fingers link together over the cold wooden surface; neither of them ever says anything about the intimate act, as if it were too sacred for words.

Lukas dresses while Berwald washes up, normally finding the Swede waiting by the front door with keys in hand.

And the day begins.

* * *

17. Spooning

His back presses perfectly against Berwald's chest, the lines of those hard muscles touching his spine and smooth back. And his hips, from his legs being slightly bent, find their dip in the Swede's body as well. When Berwald shifts just a little Lukas can feel that erection pressing against his ass but the walls of the house are too thin and the other Nordic nations might hear them. This was still their secret, after all.

He holds to the arms around his torso, one of Berwald's on his chest, the other on his lower stomach. Legs tangle together as they have since they were Vikings keeping each other warm. That was the excuse they had told Christen right? It was about warmth? Something like that.

This now isn't about warmth, laying in their boxers and nothing else. Well, almost nothing else: Lukas has his thumb ring Christen gave him years ago, platinum, to remind him of the Dane's love; Berwald wears his old wedding ring though Timo has long stopped wearing his, the divorce settled months ago. Habit, it's strictly habit.

Fingers stroke where Berwald's tattoo of the Old Norse for Viking is on his arm, watching his own tattoo flex. They have several tattoos they share with Christen, and Berwald has one for Timo, and Lukas another with Christen and Emil, but as a hand snakes down to his thigh the Norwegian sighs because there is one they alone share that no one else has: a union jack.

* * *

18. Doing something together

Lukas blushes deeply, the room warm from the fire in its hearth but cold as well from the air just beyond the castle's stone walls. There's drapes hung around the bed, to keep heat in during night. The Norwegian wonders if he'll make it that long or become too embarrassed.

Berwald sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his legs bouncing, hands palming up and down his thighs. It was in some ways comforting to know that Berwald was as on edge as Lukas was, the smaller man closing the door behind him and walking slowly to the mattress. He sits down beside the one he was now in union with.

"You looked beautiful today," the Swede whispers in bad Norwegian. "Not that you ever– I mean– well, that is to say–"

"Berwald?"

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking; you are making this worst."

"Sorry."

He wonders what the Swede's officials had told him, what his king had said to do with the kingdom now in union with him. This used to be easier, when they were Vikings and all equal. Lukas hasn't felt equal for about three centuries now but at least his two companions were Christian.

"We do not have to," Berwald barely whispers, "if you do not want to."

His cheeks burning even more Lukas shakes his head. "I– I want– I have just never–"

"Me neither," the man beside him responds, taking his hand. Lukas calms a little at that, looking into sea-green eyes. He kisses him.

* * *

19. In formal wear

There's no ceremony for them this time, not like there'd been centuries earlier; today'd had little pomp and only awful circumstance. At least Lukas got to wear pants.

He paces the halls of this far-away castle he once loved, once called his own along with someone so dear, so precious, he never wanted to part with him. The Norwegian wonders where Berwald has gotten off to now, if he was moping about in that horrible way Lukas detests. (He wouldn't hear any mention of the fact that he himself was also moping around.) They had been silent the whole trip out here, barely touching. There had been no nervous laughs or half-babbles; no longer were they mere children, unpracticed in the art of unions.

Finding the master suite of rooms Lukas lets himself in, removing his jacket and throwing it over a chair. "Still angry?" a voice asks from the balcony and turning quickly the Norwegian finds Berwald standing there, his jacket gone, shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned. He goes out to lean on the railing beside him.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"You are very calm about it. Indifferent, even."

"I am not indifferent to the matter," Berwald counters. "Indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. That you hate me means there is still a chance for me to right this wrong."

Lukas snorts. "There is more than one wrong to right."

A hand takes his but he refuses to meet those pained sea-green eyes.

* * *

20. Dancing

Everything melts away: the pain in his chest, the slow dying of his heart, the knowledge that this is all wrong. They're at war– well, Berwald isn't. Sweden is neutral; Berwald does not feel what they feel. Lukas hates him for it.

Christen sits on the back porch with the radio, half asleep. Part of his face and arms are already a light pink and the Norwegian thinks they've always loved the Dane like this; slightly crispy Berwald's taken to calling it. Christen wasn't Christen without a sunburn he can't remember getting.

In the grass it all leaves Lukas, Berwald's strong arms around him. Their suspenders hold their pants up and shirts in, jackets and ties forgotten somewhere, as they dance to the music. The Swede takes the lead as he always has in the past but it's less structured and more passionate, bodies close together, lips just barely meeting. Tonight the three of them will collapse together in bed, having done unspeakable things to one another, and after that they'll have to leave. Return to war, return to bloodshed, return to all the horrible things Berwald was trying to shield them from for just today.

For just his day.

Lukas lets go of his anger and feels light as Berwald moves him, dips him, pulls their hips close and presses his lips to his. Christen is asleep and the music is slightly fuzzy and Lukas pulls the Swede down to kiss more fully, their bodies still dancing even now.

* * *

21. Cooking/baking

Berwald has the mixer out. Well, several mixers out. One is slowly whipping something that's white and fluffy, while another one aggressively attacks something vaguely yellow in color. Berwald is hand-mixing something that looks like it most likely contains chocolate.

Lukas mans the stove, several pots bubbling and brewing. He's quite proud of what he's done so far, one pot with something he's made thousands of times, another with something he's only done twice before. The third was a recipe he had woken up to find in his inbox, a last-minute addition by the annoying Dane. Lukas isn't even sure where it came from or what it's suppose to be in the end, but he hadn't been able to email Christen back due to a certain Swede distracting him, so the Norwegian was stuck making it.

"Smells good," Berwald whispers over his shoulder, hands creeping across Lukas's hips.

"It's the surprise dish."

"Well between these, what I've got, and what they're bringing–" he means the other Nordic nations and their dates "–I think we'll be more than taken care of."

"Might need more booze," Lukas points out, escaping his boyfriend's clasp to get butter from the fridge. "It is us after all."

"I can go get, if you want."

The Norwegian shakes his head, stirring one of the pots before stepping back. "You want help with any of your things beloved?"

"You any good with mixers?" Berwald asks.

"Well, at the very least I'm good with my hands."

* * *

22. In battle, side-by-side

Leifr swings the sword in his hands, taking a deep breath before letting out a scream to warn those he was running towards that this was it: this was the end for them. The first man he gets straight through the heart, the second he chops the arm off of before bashing in the third man's head, going back to cut the second man's back. His breathing is labored and his eyes wide and Leifr feels so alive until there is something cool at his back, a blade pressing against him. Though he tries to turn away from the short dagger he knows blood has already been drawn.

What the Norwegian finds once he's gotten the blade out of his back is Björn running towards him, sword raised before slicing in half the man who had gotten one in on Leifr. Björn's eyes look as wide as Leifr's feel as he takes in the Norseman clutching his side.

The rest of the battle falls away as Leifr staggers forward into the awaiting Viking's arms before blacking out.

x

Ketill's head has a bandage around it, one eye not opening nearly enough compared to the other. Björn hobbles into the house, nodding once towards the Dane, before coming to Leifr's side where he lays in bed.

"How bad am I?" he asks.

"You've convinced some of the women we're gods. Again."

"I like when they think we're gods," Leifr murmurs.

Björn strokes his cheek. "But only if we're sex gods."

"Of course."

* * *

23. Arguing

"Lukas, are you shitting me‽" Berwald shouts as Lukas storms into the house, heading for the stairs. "Oi! Where are you going? Come back here!"

"What?" the Norwegian demands, turning quickly at the bottom of the stairs. "What‽ What the fuck do you want‽"

"I want you to come back here," he says roughly, "and tell me what the fuck is wrong."

"Oh, what's wrong?" Lukas repeats in that voice he knows grates Berwald's nerves beyond all others. "What's wrong? Oh I wonder what's wrong, what could set off the always-on-edge Norwegian?"

"Leifr!" Berwald shouts. "Shut up and sit the fuck down!"

"Make me bitch!" and Lukas comes off the steps to slap Berwald hard across the face. "You can clearly do anything you want! You ogle at all our waitresses, I know you do, you still talk to Timo who I bet you still love: so why don't you make me, you ungrateful Swedish bastard‽"

"God, you're so insufferable when you're like this!" Berwald starts to walk into the kitchen, Lukas still seething but feeling quite a bit more satisfied, until the Swede comes back out. "No, you know what? You're always insufferable. You are an insufferable prick: you've always been and you'll always be one. I don't even know why I try sometimes, should have just left you to Christen and gotten on with my married life with Timo. At least he was someone I loved."

Despite everything else said, that one cuts Lukas the most.

* * *

24. Making up afterwards

"Lulu?" a quiet voice asks from the other side of the door.

"Go the fuck away!" Lukas screams, throwing a pillow, then Berwald's alarm clock, at the door. "You can't take back what you said, you asshole!"

"You hurt me," Berwald growls through the door. "You know Timo is off limits. You knew I'd react."

"I don't care!" the Norwegian shouts before laying down, exhausted, on their bed. "I don't want us to go back to how it was before," he whispers and Lukas isn't sure if Berwald can hear him. "It was awful towards the end." He means of their union.

"I know," a voice sighs. "I know and I'm sorry and I was wrong but you were wrong too. We both were, alright?"

Lukas says nothing.

"Right?"

Taking a deep breath he decides he has to agree in some way: getting up and unlocking the door before running back to the bed is it.

"Right." Berwald closes the door behind him, kicks off his shoes, and crawls onto the bed beside him. "Lukas? Lulu?"

"You never call me Lulu," the smaller man whispers. "Haven't since Emil was a babe."

Large hands take his, pulling the Norwegian to the Swedish body. "We used to be happy back then," Berwald whispers in his ear. "We used to trust each other."

"We'd promised each other forever, that's why Be." Lukas wraps his arms around the man's neck. "We were in love."

"We still are, aren't we?"

"Ja."

"Lulu?"

"Mmm?"

"Marry me?"

* * *

25. Gazing into each others' eyes

Their breathing starts to calm as they lay on the bed, eyes locked on one another. Berwald speaks first, his bare chest rising and falling. Lukas can just see out of the corner of his eyes a tattoo across that broad chest: the word « Norden », something he himself had tattooed across his side. The Norwegian reaches out to stroke the word as his boyfriend whispers,

"I meant it: marry me?"

"Stop talking nonsense."

"Not nonsense."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't."

Lukas gives Berwald a light slap of the cheek. "I forget sometimes what a sappy idiot you are."

"Really? I never forget." The Swedish kingdom's smile is small but serene, genuine beyond belief. Lukas lets his fingers fall over the lips, barely looking away from beautiful sea-green eyes. "Say yes."

"Hmm?"

"Please say yes Lukas." Arms gently wrap around him, pulling the Norwegian to that body until he's almost laying on top of Berwald. A hand strokes his cheek. "Please."

"You don't want to marry me," Lukas counters, stealing a kiss. His eyes barely close before opening again, big and blue and locked on Berwald's handsome face. "I'm a mess. I'm insufferable, you were right on that. I'm moody and obnoxious and cold and self-destructive and why are you smiling?" Berwald's grin is smug and there and annoying the shit out of the Norwegian who had been attempting to spill his heart out here in a rare moment of honesty.

"You've yet to say anything to change my mind."

* * *

26. Getting married

His fiancé, groom, soon-to-be husband, waits at the end of the aisle, stunning in a white suit and shirt, Norwegian red bow tie and blue pocket square the color of Lukas's eyes. Lukas, in contrast, wears a Swedish blue bow tie with his sea-green pocket square as he releases Emil, Berwald having come out to meet him. They finish the rest of the journey together.

Lukas knows he's laying his emotions bare before all those in attendance, something he never does, but looking at the handsome man holding his hands, so tall and strong and his, it was hard to not feel his heart speeding up in his chest or a soft small fall upon his lips. He never thought he'd be this happy. He never thought one man could fell all this… love, in one defining moment.

Gold rings slide easily over pale fingers, their cuff links bearing their former union jack glinting in the light. It feels like he's underwater when Lukas says his vows, barely hearing his own words; none of that matters though because he hears each word Berwald says with such passion that he can't believe it.

Over a thousand years, and they could still surprise each other.

When the ceremony is over Lukas doesn't bother waiting for anyone to announce them, wrapping his arms around Berwald's neck to pull him down. Their kiss is public and private and wonderful and Lukas can't believe that he was actually married to Berwald now.

* * *

27. On one of their birthdays

He comes to while laying on his stomach, mouth slightly open as his face sticks to the side of the pillow. Ugh, Lukas hates waking up finding he's been drooling, especially when there's no Dane to blame it on.

"Morning beautiful," someone in the room mutters, laying out on his back. Berwald's lips kiss at his neck and shoulders, pinning the Norwegian down: there would be no escape, there would be no coffee.

"Oi, shouldn't you be at work?" He tries to turn his head to see what time it is but, failing, instead blearily peers at Berwald's: it was half past eleven, way past when he should have left.

"No. Holiday."

Lukas pulls a face. "What are you talking about?"

"You are so jet lagged," the man laughs softly, rolling off the Norwegian to lay beside him on the bed. The Swede strokes his cheek before kissing him. "What day do you think it is?"

"The sixteenth."

"Nope."

"What do you mean, 'nope'?"

"Seventeenth."

The Norwegian raises an eyebrow in annoyance. "No it ain't. You're wrong."

Laughing Berwald picks up his phone, opening something. When he hands it to Lukas it's showing the newspaper announcing Norwegian Constitution Day celebrations.

"Really?" Lukas would have sworn that was tomorrow.

"Really. Two days of traveling will do that to ya though." He kisses the smaller man's nose. "Happy birthday my love."

Lukas frowns. "Hold on: this ain't a holiday for you, Swede." Berwald shrugs.

"Called in sick. I do what I want."

* * *

28. Doing something ridiculous

World meeting on the sixth of June, it's impossible to take off then too. That doesn't mean Lukas is going to waste the occasion, however.

As the morning session ends fellow nations loiter about but the Norwegian has no time for that. He grabs Berwald's arm and immediately drags him away from Timo and Christen talking about fishing, ignoring his brother who had definitely sensed what he was up to and was trying his hardest to stop him.

Cockblock.

In the hall Berwald says nothing, clearly hoping that the smaller kingdom would reveal himself first. When they get to an unused side room normally reserved for smaller meetings, the Swede shakes his head.

"What are we doing exactly?"

"Bilateral negotiations," Lukas says as if that was the most obvious thing before shoving the man backwards into the room. He locks the door before attacking the man's mouth, kissing him and groping him and making him growl possessively. "Here," he breathes, pushing Berwald back against the desk to sit. Instinctively his lover tries to pull him to his lap but Lukas has to shake his head at that. "You're the birthday boy," he sighs and the Swede groans longingly at that as his counterpart falls to his knees between parted legs.

There's a banging on the door and yells by Christen of, "This is a meeting! What the fuck are you doing? Everyone knows what you two are up to now!"

"Good," Lukas shouts back, eyes on Berwald. The man smiles.

* * *

29. Doing something sweet

The wind blows coolly over Leifr, the man sighing and welcoming it. He listens to water so close lap against the shore below.

"What are you doing?" Björn asks as he comes to sit beside him. Eyes still closed, the smaller Norseman shakes his head.

"Shh, listen."

A body lays beside him, a hand taking his. Their fingers weave together like the strands of cloth or hair in a braid, silence falling over them.

In the distance Leifr can hear birds singing; he imagines he can hear peaceful women and children singing too.

There's a rustle of clothing, a shifting of that warmth beside him, then Björn kisses his forehead. "I think I love you," the man whispers quietly into his ear. "I think I've always loved you, and I think I always will."

Smiling to himself Leifr rolls over to lay half-atop his companion, a hand stroking that handsome and strong face. "Don't think," he whispers back and the Swede understands, nodding.

"I love you," he says with a quiet strength. "I love you," he repeats, stronger. "I love you, I love you."

Leifr kisses him, his lips falling along Björn's mouth and jaw, hands balling up in the clothes beneath him.

"I'll always love you," he continues as Leifr kisses back his neck, biting at his earlobe. "I promise you, here and now, Leifr–" hands take hold of his face, shifting him to look into Björn's clear eyes "–I will never stop loving you."

Leifr believes him.

* * *

30. Doing something hot

There's not nearly enough friction as he thrusts up against that leg between his thighs, Berwald too focused on marking nearly every part of Lukas's neck with red marks that say, « this is Swedish territory, keep back ». Norwegian nails drag along the broad back and Lukas greatly enjoys the red lines he can see forming, fingers smoothing over the worst of the permanent scars there to mark bare patches with more sensual lines.

The room is little more than desperate moans and hands searching, feeling, stroking. Lukas doesn't know how much farther he can spread his legs to try and get some action when finally Berwald pays attention to him; a large hand strokes down his chest and stomach before grabbing hold of his cock and stroking.

Inhuman noises escape the Norwegian throat, his head thrashing back and forth as Berwald's tongue circles a nipple. Frustrated at the pace Lukas hits him in the head with the flat-part of the bottle of lube, momentarily stunning the man.

"I'm getting there," Berwald growls above him, possessive and wild, and it makes Lukas only want him that much more.

He's half-turned to his side before he feels the Swede slap his ass, hard, and the smaller man knows that means to roll over. He pushes back against fingers until finally he feels something more impressive fill him, Berwald's chest pressing into his back.

"Lukas," the man moans into his ear. Their thrusting quickly finds its rhythm. "Lukas."

"Berwald, shut up."


End file.
